


Our kind of perfect

by JenJo



Series: 52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks [19]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenJo/pseuds/JenJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misunderstandings often lead to the truth, eventually. Words always help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our kind of perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Week 20: A story written in 2nd person narrative.  
> I cheated.   
> This is not written in 2nd person narrative.

You brought me to a place I could never have imagined I would be. The places my life has taken me never allowed me a chance to dream of a future. But now, with you, I can dream. And do more than dream. Together, you and I could do whatever we want.

And that’s a problem.

Because you and I, we can dream all we want. But dreams don’t change reality. And reality sucks. You have a future. I have a future.

Together? I don’t think that we have a future together.

I want one. God, I want one more than anything. 

You don’t get as far as we have without being realistic.

And the truth is, we don’t have a future together. 

Don’t.

Can’t.

Shouldn’t.

PIck a negative word.

Because what we do, the lives we lead? They just don’t leave room for even contemplating a future.

I know that you know this. And you know that I am right. So please.

Please.

Don’t fight me on this.

I love you too much to fight you.

What we have now, is perfect.

We don’t have to change a thing.

Please don’t be upset. You know that I am right.

Nothing changes. Nothing is wrong with what we have.

Let’s keep it.

 

\----- \----- \-----

 

Bucky stared at the piece of paper in his hands. He had found it in the back of the closet while looking for something else. His name sat at the top of the page, in Clint’s handwriting. Bucky had sat down on the floor, the words making him feel…  _ confused _ was the best word that he had.

He thought that their relationship was going well. They’d been living together in Clint’s apartment for the past six months, after a year of being together.

(The Tower, while a great source of convenience, was not a home. At the end of a long day, Bucky enjoyed being able to leave work behind.)

There was no date on the paper; for all he knew, Clint could’ve written this yesterday. Or last month. Objectively, Bucky knew that he had no way of knowing  _ when  _ this was written.

There was a part of him, the dominant one, that was upset. Upset that he didn’t see the signs of this. He thought that their relationship was good. Sure, there were things that could be improved, but that was part of any relationship.

This letter suggested something much deeper at play. 

Objectively, Bucky knew that there were ways to bring this up with Clint that didn’t involve angrily confronting him.

Unfortunately, the objective part of Bucky did not win the argument.

Wiping away the tears that he didn’t realise had fallen, Bucky stood up, and stormed to Clint.

“Barton, what the hell is this?” Bucky asks, throwing the piece of paper onto Clint. Clint had been laying on the couch, eyes closed.

“A piece of paper?” He offered, sitting up and taking a closer  look at the paper in question. “Oh.”

“Oh? That all you got to say?” Bucky crossed his arms, sitting on the table in front of Clint.

“You, er, weren’t supposed to see this,” Clint folded the paper in half, then half again. He kept his eyes on Bucky. “Ever.”

“I figured. Doesn’t change the fact that it exists. Why?”

Clint looked down at the paper. “I wrote this… almost a year ago, maybe? I was, god, I was a mess. It was…” Clint trailed off, looking at a point beyond Bucky. 

“The anniversary.”

Clint gave Bucky a small smile, before looking away again. “Yeah. I was seeing ghosts everywhere, hearing whispers from the corner of the room. The one thing I could hold onto that was real was you.” Clint ran his hands over his face, taking a couple of deep breaths. “I didn’t want to… didn’t want  _ us  _ to change. We were good, and I needed that. I needed the knowledge that no matter how shit my day was, I’d be able to get into  _ our  _ bed and fall asleep in  _ your _ arms.”

Bucky waited for Clint, watching as the man looked everywhere in the room except at Bucky.

“I was afraid,” Clint whispered, before looking at Bucky. “I was afraid of losing you because of things that I knew weren’t real. And you weren’t in a place to talk to about this. No,” Clint held up a hand when Bucky opened his mouth. “This is what my frame of mind was when I wrote the letter. Let me explain.” When Bucky nodded, Clint lowered his hand, rubbing his jaw before continuing. “It was suggested to me that writing my feelings might help. And it did. I wrote  _ so many letters _ , so many pieces of paper. Sometimes they were addressed to people, sometimes not. But they helped. Each one I wrote, I was able to sit back, and look at my feelings. And move on. I probably should have thrown them away, or burnt them. But, I bundled them all together, and threw them into the closet. I guess that one fell loose. You were never meant to see it.”

Bucky held out his right hand for Clint; Clint eyed the hand, before reaching out for it. Bucky spoke as he stared at their entwined hands. “You’re important to me, for some ridiculous reason.” Bucky laughed at that, before squeezing Clint’s hand. “I don’t want you thinking that you are alone. Cause you aren’t. You were in a bad way last year, and I get that. This year is different, right?”

Clint nodded. “Right. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Bucky smiled at Clint. “Considering the place is in your name and all.”

Clint shook his head, smiling. “Only because you’re legally dead.”

“Should probably fix that at some point.” Bucky shrugged. “Got any plans this evening?”

Clint tugged on Bucky’s hand; he came to sit on the couch next to Clint. Clint rearranged them so that he ended up laying sideways on the couch, head in Bucky’s lap. (And never letting go of his hand.)

“This is my plan,” Clint declared, closing his eyes.

Bucky shook his head fondly. “That it?”

Clint used his free hand to take our his hearing aids, holding them out for Bucky. “Sorry, what did you say? I can’t hear you.”

Bucky laughed again, taking the aids and putting them in the container sitting on the coffee table. He then sat back, running his free hand through Clint’s hair as the other man began to doze.

_ “Neither of us are perfect,”  _ Clint had once told him.  _ “We’re pretty far from it. But, what we have together? I think that’s kind of perfect.” _

Looking down at Clint, Bucky smiled again.  _ Kind of perfect. _

 

\---

 

“Here.”

Bucky looked up from his coffee; Clint was holding out a piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

Clint sat opposite Bucky, still holding out the paper. “When I wrote that letter, it was when I was thinking about asking you to come live here with me. I wrote that letter, about why that was a bad idea, but I also wrote this one. This one was about why it was a good idea.”

Bucky eyed the paper, before shaking his head. “I don’t want to read it.”

Clint pulled his hand back. “Why not?”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t need to. You wrote those for yourself; I don’t need to read it. Besides, I’m here. I know how that conversation turned out.”

Clint nodded, putting the piece of paper into his pocket. “If I recall, you ran away for three days after I asked.”

Bucky gave Clint a pointed look. “I went on a mission for three days. I didn’t run away.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Clint replied, but there was a smile on his face.

Bucky shook his head, and pushed his coffee towards Clint. “Here.”

“What about you?”

Bucky stood up, walking towards the kettle. “I’m making myself a fresh cup.”

“What about me?”

Bucky leaned back on the kitchen counter as he waited for the kettle to boil. “We both know that you prefer cold coffee.”

Clint nodded, drinking the coffee before joining Bucky in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around Bucky, and leant his head on Bucky’s chest.

“Thank you.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around Clint. “Anytime.”

The kettle signalled that it was ready, but neither man made to move.

_ This, this is perfect,  _ Bucky thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as always let me know what you think.  
> And see you all next time.


End file.
